


Trinkets

by Aoren



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoren/pseuds/Aoren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trost is saved from titans and humanity has taken a step towards victory. The future may be brighter for the world, but Jean Kirstein can't get out of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trinkets

 The sunlight no longer marked the start of a brand new day. Before it symbolize a hope that seemed to burn within each and every trainee, even if they would not openly admit to it. It was a flame that Eren lit, blew at, tried so hard to keep alive. It had worked, for the most part but as Jean stared into the rising sun from the top of Wall Rose, he couldn’t help but the feeling that all was left were dimming embers.  
  
   Heat warmed Jean’s back as streams of light beat down upon it, penetrating his coat and shirt, the leather straps of the 3DM Gear becoming hot to the touch. His fingers absentmindedly played with the buckles on his uniform, a habit he recently developed to pass the time. He was sure that, if he had to for any strange reason, he could put his uniform on in his sleep.  
  
   Sleep seemed to elude him since the battle in Trost. His nights were plagued with nightmares with the screams and shrieks of late friends, the tearing sound of them being ripped apart ringing in his ears even after he had woken. And worse of all was the one death that never appeared in his night time horror trips; the one death he wished he could have prevented.  
  
   “Marco.”  
  
   His fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, separating the thin fabric from his skin. His hand closed around the thin Military Police medallion he’d taken from Marco the day they found his body. He had no idea that his friend had even carried around this cheap piece of plastic, but it had suddenly become his token, containing all his will to live.  
  
   But he had grown so tired. Death seemed to stalk him through each expedition, brushed against his heels during Eren’s rescue mission, and mockingly bit at his nose whenever a titan’s footsteps shook the Earth. He had started to wonder what it would be like if he too had fallen, given his life to protect Marco’s.  
  
   Jean would have liked to say that he was no longer afraid of titans. In his youth, he boasted about the number of titans he could take on with half a tank of gas and two dull blades. His circle of friends ooh-ed and ahh-ed, their eyes big with admiration. They had their turn of playing Titan and Corps. Jean, being the biggest of the boys, always took the role of Titan, until the younger boys decided to switch it up, to test the other’s fighting ability. He assumed that nothing would be more frightening than five pretend titans cornering him in an alley way. Then he met a real one.  
  
   Ten Meter Class, slower than average, but fast than a normal human. Annie was two steps behind, ready to rescue him if he needed it. How he wished that he didn’t. Sweat broke across his forehead as he climbed the titan’s back, the heels of his boots digging into its rough skin. Large hands came flying in his direction, trying to swat him from its back as if he was nothing but an insect. An insect that it wouldn’t mind munching on.  
  
   He froze. At that moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t react. Hand drawing near, chubby fingers grabbing for the blonde boy whose five years of training flew out of his ear. He was going to be titan chow and he never even had the chance to beat the righteous smile off of Eren Jaeger’s face. He wasn’t even going to make it into the Military Police at this rate.  
  
   “Jean! Don’t stop fighting!”  
  
   Reality came crashing down on him. He threw this body to the side, silently thanking his 3DM Gear for being able to wonderfully aid him in an escape. He landed on a roof with a soft thud next to Connie, a scowl replacing his previous frightened expression. Damn it, he could have gotten that one.  
  
   That could have been the one.  
  
   If he had killed it, if he hadn’t been taken over with fear, then maybe Marco would still be jumping between him and Eren when they argued. What if that was the one and he had doomed his friend? Just one more person could have been saved. It was his fault. He was the grim reaper that signed over his comrade's death certificate.  
  
   The more he dealt with him, the more he realized that he was responsible for no one death except his own. As he stared at the titans clawing at the plugged wall around Trost, he knew that he was in control of his own life...and death.  
  
   He could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage as he lowered himself down the wall, the setting sun casting his shadow back. He had stayed there, reminiscing, for far too long. His footsteps were light as he walked vertically. It was something that he practiced when they came from missions beyond the wall. It was a way to clear his thoughts and thank whoever was protecting him for saving him.  
  
   Why would they ever protect him? Why would anyone? What was he worth compared to the life of Mikasa or Eren? Even Armin’s life would have priority over his. What if he died right then? Away from the eyes of the 104th. From his squad leader. From the sunlight that followed each and every human. It was like an angel of some sort, watching over, yet giving strength to the things that tore people apart.  
  
   “What an ugly looking face,” Jean huffed as he stood just out of the reach of several titans, just a few steps away. Eren could have taken them all in under ten minutes. He was sure of it. He was no longer the boastful child he was more than five years ago. That part of him was gone.  
  
   He took a step forward. Marco was twice the man he’d ever be. Another step. He could end it  all and be with his best friend. All it took was...Two more steps. Marco, are you there? The titan’s hand wrapped around Jean’s trembling body, the hot skin making him uncomfortable, but he didn’t fight it. What was there to fight for?  
  
   Glazed over brown eyes stared into the large ones as he was lifted into the air, fingers tightening around his blade. When did he grab that? There was no use for them, no more reason to fight. In a few seconds he’d be swinging with the limbs of fellow soldier. In a few seconds he’d be--  
  
 _Jean!_  
  
   Blades swung wildly, cutting through the titan’s flesh. Fingers fell away from the palm, giving Jean the opportunity to escape. His 3DM Gear latched onto the wall, taking him a few feet from the mess of Titans. His mind was racing. He heard that all too familiar voice. He knew he had.  
  
  _Jean, up here._  
  
   He lifted his chin, his eyes widening as he spotted the freckled face of his best friend. His dead best friend. He was hallucinating. He had to be. There was absolutely no way that this was possible, yet there he was, waiting for him. The medallion around his neck seemed to burn his skin. He had to fight, to live.  
  
   “You...You’re dead,” Jean croaked, his voice suddenly dryer than it ever was before. He knew in his heart that this was the truth, but he couldn’t help the smile that painted its way across his lips of the echoing laugh that brought every titan’s attention to him. He was...real.  
  
 _Stop questioning things. Jean, take my hand. We have to climb back to the top._  
  
   Jean stretched his hand out towards the other, reaching for him, trying to close the gap. He’d be up there soon, next to him. And then everything would be alright, wouldn’t it? So why did the other’s face suddenly turn dark?  
  
   Something grabbed at the back of his leg. Just a few more inches.  
  
 _Jean, Fifteen Meter! Jean, you have to move faster._  
  
   A few more centimeters.  
  
    His 3DM Gear detached from the wall. His hand shot out, desperate to reach the other, his only lifeline.  
  
 _Jean!_  
  
   His best friend’s face grew farther and farther away. The wind rushed by, slipping through his hair. His eyes closed, the darkness replacing the image of the freckled boy.  
  
 _Marco._

**Author's Note:**

> First Jean/Marco and it's just a friendship one. Or it could be romantic. It's up to how you wish to see it. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
